


Reputation

by dem_hips



Series: Executive [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dem_hips/pseuds/dem_hips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of 3 in my musings of how future Executive Ariana found her way into Team Rocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reputation

Ariana did her best to move along from a place before she could gain a reputation. Mass attention was not what she craved, and it was counter to her continued freedom. She recognized that immediately and was sure to keep from making scenes, causing trouble, and getting caught. She avoided Pokémon Centers, opting to steal Potions and Revives instead and only having Odds patched up when absolutely necessary. She slept in alleys, in woods under trees, and snatched fresh clothing from clotheslines whenever she could. Her meals were gathered in much the same way, or they were garnered through the foolish kindness of strangers. But she walked on, moving as quickly as she could from one town to the next, and steered clear of Pokémon Gyms at all costs.  
  
Probably for the best. If she _had_ managed to gain a reputation, it would have been quite a hell of one.  
  
She didn’t consider herself a trainer, but anyone found wandering around Johto with a Pokéball on her belt was often mistaken for one, and she wouldn’t back down from a challenge. Today was no different, but at least today her challenger was easy on the eyes, a slim, tall young man with a sharp gaze and a confident stance. His trainer card said his name was Aaron.  
  
The Pokéball he released contained a Slugma, and he scoffed in disbelief when she sent Odds out to face him.  
  
“A Grass-type? Really?”  
  
Ariana folded her arms under her by now ample bosom and watched him flatly, betraying no fear. She knew she and her Oddish stood little chance, but she had already agreed to the challenge, and she wasn’t about to surrender without a proper fight. Besides, Odds was up for it, fully refreshed after a rare night at the Pokémon Center back in Cianwood; she was bouncing from foot to foot in what she probably thought was an intimidating fighter’s stance. Ariana had never bothered to correct this.  
  
“Let’s just get started,” she called back, keeping her own posture relaxed. Sometimes unusual confidence on her part was enough to trip her opponent up. “Odds! Sleep Powder!”  
  
Ariana allowed a smile at the frustrated grimace her opponent made when his Slugma became instantly unable to fight. “Sleeping during a battle? Really?” He gritted his teeth; she just smirked.  
  
“Acid, Odds!”  
  
Both she and the trainer took a couple steps back from the acrid stench produced when the poison came in contact with the sleeping Slugma’s flames. “Wake _up_!” Aaron called, frustrated, from behind a protective hand.  
  
“Funny, I don’t think I’ve heard of that attack before.” Ariana was enjoying herself, in light of this guy’s difficulties. “Give it another Acid!”  
  
He cursed and stepped back more, watching the poison slowly work its magic on his Slugma’s sleeping body. “Come _on_ ,” he growled under his breath, hating that all he could do was watch helplessly.  
  
“Need a gas mask?” Ariana called, in a sweet voice itself tinged with poison. “We could do this all day! Odds, another—”  
  
Aaron straightened suddenly, eyes wide in response to his Slugma’s own eyes being open at all. “Yes! Lava Plume, Slugma!”  
  
Ariana only winced a little as her Oddish fainted dead away; the heat of the single attack had been way too much for her. Well. That was the end of that.  
  
“Well? Don’t keep me waiting, what else’ve you got?”  
  
Ariana shrugged, drawing her Oddish back to her Pokéball. “That’s it.”  
  
“You’re telling me all you have on you’s that weak little Oddish?” The trainer’s face contorted into a mixture of disbelief and nasty amusement. “The hell are you thinking?”  
  
Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna keep rubbing it in, dickweed?” she snapped. “You won, so just be happy and be on your damn way.”  
  
“Love to.” He approached her, calling back his Slugma with one hand and holding out the other. “Just as soon as we finish up.”  
  
 _Here we go again._  
  
She shrugged, holding up hands empty of money. “Broke.”  
  
“No kidding!” The proffered hand clenched into a fist. “Bet you’ve never even won a match! What a waste of time!  
  
“You better have something on you worth a victory,” he added with a grimace. “Why the hell would you accept a challenge if you can’t pay up?”  
  
“Because challenges are always worth accepting. And sometimes you get lucky.” Her gaze was intense on him, suddenly, eyes blinding and bright like too-close suns. “Don’t worry. I think we can come to an agreement on what I owe you.”  
  
She much preferred losing to the female trainers, but she couldn’t afford to be picky.  
  
At least Aaron had the decency to take her back to the city and find her a bed. Her back still hurt from being slammed into roots last time.  
  
He was a talker, she soon learned, running his mouth even as he collected what she owed him. “Seriously…what’s up with the Oddish? …You do this for fun?”  
  
Someone really needed to teach this guy what you did and did not say to a woman while you were screwing her, Ariana thought with a mental shake of her head. Not that that someone was going to be her.  
  
“One Pokémon’s enough of a handful for me,” she answered, voice ragged with heavy breaths. The truth was that despite her best efforts otherwise, she left a trail of fainted Pokémon in her wake whenever she tried to catch another; she just didn’t have the patience or the finesse for it.  
  
For a couple minutes he was blessedly silent, mouth occupied with other things, and Ariana closed her eyes and tilted her head back, releasing the occasional moan for good measure. He was chatty, but he was decent, at least—could be pretty amazing, too, if he used his mouth more for things like this and less for talking.  
  
After a while, he left off, finally loosening his belt and tugging his pants down. “You do this often, then.” He didn’t sound accusatory, or even entirely disgusted. It was, almost, a vague sort of interest.  
  
She shrugged, watching him position himself above her. “It happens.”  
  
“Girls, too?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“What if you lost to some old dude?”  
  
“Done it. –Ahngh!” No matter how often she did this, the first insertion always made her gasp, like a needle stick, every time.  
  
Halfway in, he paused, eyebrow raised. “…Kids?”  
  
“Usually they’ll take candy instead,” she smirked, and raised her hips to meet him.  
  
\---  
  
No matter how often she moved, no matter how careful she was and how talented she got, a year was a long time, and Johto was only so large. Whispers began following her, acting as her shadow as she broke into PokéMarts at night and leaving fleeting impressions at the edges of her vision as she flirted meals out of older men during the day.  
  
Goldenrod City was the busiest, and the best place to hide, but that didn’t mean she was the only one who used it for such purposes.  
  
This battle started like any other, with a challenge from someone who seemed set on assuming that she was a Pokémon trainer, with just that one ball at her waist. Now a Gloom, Odds, to her credit, stood her ground against the Murkrow her sharply-dressed opponent sent out, but it was way stronger, almost laughably so. A single Wing Attack did her in, and Ariana, with a short sigh, had to recall the Grass type before she’d even had a chance to fight back. They’d actually been winning some matches, lately, when the type difference worked out to their advantage, but it looked like their good luck streak was ending.  
  
“That’s it, right?” the trainer asked, rubbing his grinning chin. “Just that one Gloom?”  
  
Ariana frowned. Normally people were more surprised by that. “That’s it,” she confirmed, a mite hesitantly, pulling out her wallet. With the recent wins, she could afford to pay this man in cash and preferred to, already getting a bad vibe from him. “Your win. Here,” she added, pulling out the going rate for a single-Pokémon battle.  
  
“I’m not interested in your money,” the man told her, his Murkrow chittering and flapping around his head. “I’ve heard about you.”  
  
Well shit.  
  
“Hot little red-haired slut with a single Gloom, won’t turn down a challenge no matter what.” His eyes were growing hungry as the distance between them decreased with each of his carefully-placed steps. “Pays her losses with—”  
  
“Look,” Ariana interrupted. Her expression had grown hard, but she stood firm. “I got your money. You don’t get to decide how I pay you, this is how it’s done.”  
  
“Isn’t how _you_ do it.” He shook his head and kept advancing. “I think as the victor it’s up to me to choose how I’m rewarded, don’t you?”  
  
“Fuck you,” she hissed, drawing back.  
  
“Oh, please do.” His grin was white and straight and mesmerizing, and while she stared at him he had her wrist tight in his hand before she could bolt. “In fact, it’s in your best interest to. I’d hate to see what would happen to you if someone were to catch wind of your fake trainer card.”  
  
She was caught, and her face was hot with it.  
  
“It’s not a big deal, right? You’ve done it so many times before, after all.” His grip tightened painfully.  
  
“Let _GO_!” She swung at him, clumsily, with her left hand, which he dodged and then caught, laughing.  
  
“You’ll come quietly, won’t you? Or,” he added with an amused chuckle, “maybe you’re a screamer? Don’t make me knock you out, I’d hate to hurt that pretty head of yours.”  
  
She glared up at him, her face burning nearly as red as her hair. “Not. Interested. You fucking creep!” He was still laughing. “Let me _GO_!” Her knee rose swiftly, making contact with his groin. He released her instantly, howling in pain, and she took off.  
  
She never made it out of the alley they had battled in, though. The man’s Murkrow, still cackling, descended in front of her, and for a moment she hesitated, unsure how to get rid of it. In that moment, its eyes flashed meanly, and she felt an inexplicable wave of fear wash over her, keeping her legs from listening even as she silently begged them to keep running.  
  
When the trainer finally recovered from the attack on his manhood, his humor was all but gone. It lingered in the hard, mirthless smirk with which he faced Ariana, before he pulled a knife on her. “Now. You’ll do as you’re told, won’t you, my little red-headed whore…?” She watched him, shaking with anger, but said nothing, mindful of the blade. “You’ll stay quiet and you’ll be good. Yes?”  
  
She swallowed, and nodded, hoping that would buy her enough time to think of a way out.  
  
“Good. Come with me, then.”  
  
She went. The Murkrow and the knife barely concealed in the pocket of the man’s overcoat kept sharp watch on her as they headed down the street to a lavish apartment building only a few blocks away and up many floors to his flat. As they entered, his cell phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out but led her through a door into the bedroom and shut the Murkrow inside to keep an eye on her before he answered. Ariana sat on the bed, relinquishing her time to look around for the moment to focus on hearing the muffled conversation.  
  
“Yeah…? Yeah, I found her. Told you I would.” … “Just now.” … “Well, are you busy? I’m in Goldenrod.” … “No I ain’t fucking waiting for you, jackass. It’s your own damn fault you didn’t believe me.” … “You’re wasting my time.” He laughed, loudly. “Better move it before I let her go.”  
  
And then silence. Ariana’s eyes darted around the room more frantically, now, looking for something she could use to get out of this situation. The room was draped opulently, the bed decked out in rich, deep satins, the furniture all heavy, dark woods and dull brass accents—armoire, desk, bedside table, chairs, all. And the bed itself was positively plush, the most comfortable thing she had ever sat on. No wonder he didn’t want her money. What a damn fucking creep.  
  
She had come up with nothing by the time he entered, the hungry look back in his eyes. But she barely noticed that; he had removed his coat, and underneath there was a white suit, with a red “R” embroidered neatly on a breast pocket.  
  
Momentarily, she forgot to breathe.  
  
He chuckled, darkly, at the look on her face and moved to stand in front of her. “Don’t look so shocked,” he murmured, reaching out with almost business-like hands to untie her simple wrap dress. She was too paralyzed to stop him. “All men have their needs.” Briefly, he took a step back to get a good look at her breasts bulging out of her stolen, too-small bra. “ _Damn_ ,” he breathed, with a certain appreciation, a certain sense of power.  
  
He busied himself with undoing his belt and the complicated clasps on his pants, and Ariana sat still but her eyes moved even quicker and more frantic than before. There had to be something, _anything_ she could do, if only that fucking Murkrow weren’t still in here watching like a freaky, voyeuristic—  
  
She flinched back as he stepped forward, obscuring her vision from all but what he wanted her to focus on. “That was a one-hit KO,” he reminded her, voice dipping into bragging territory. “Pretty impressive, I think. Don’t you? I think it deserves a little something extra.”  
  
Her face burned with humiliation even before he began pressing at her mouth. Oh, no.  _No_.  No fucking _way_.  
  
“ _Open_ ,” he ordered, in a voice that tasted of knife blades. She opened. And almost instantly, she gagged; but he had a strong grip on her hair now, and she couldn’t push away.  
  
“This is new for you, isn’t it? I do love teaching new things.” She could picture the shit-eating, patronizing grin he was making, above her. “Especially things I enjoy so much. You’ll want to start by sucking on it. Maybe move your tongue a bit.” She _wanted_ to kick his teeth in.  
  
But instead, his grip on her hair got tighter, and she did what he said. All things told, he tasted rank; it strengthened her gag reflex significantly, but he yanked her hair every time her throat spasmed, so she had to focus on controlling it.  
  
“…Mmm,” he began murmuring appreciatively after a while. “Good, _good_. Fast learner, aren’t you?” Slowly, his free hand reached down and gave one of her breasts a good squeeze. Normally she wouldn’t have given a shit about it.  
  
But that was the last straw.  
  
She bit down, hard, in a moment of sudden brilliance. He shoved her back on the bed with a howl, the Murkrow flapped and screeched in a chaotic frenzy of feathers, and there was blood everywhere, smeared across her mouth and dripping down her chin and splattered everywhere between her spot on the bed and where he was now screaming in an agonized little ball on his expensive rug halfway across the room. At once, Ariana was on her feet, spitting blood and dodging the frenzied Pokémon and tearing out the door to the main room of the flat, her dress billowing behind her like a robe.  
  
Her frantic looks around soon rewarded her with the vision of a fireplace against the back wall. A fireplace would have a poker…yes! She ran for it; from inside the bedroom, the man had gathered enough coherent thought to begin threatening her between groans of pain: “Nasty little bitch! Get back in here, I’m gonna carve you up like a fucking steak and feed you to my Zangoose! Dirty fucking whore!” As he wished, she returned to the bedroom, poker in hand, knowing he was in no position to make good on his claims. The Murkrow was a lost cause for him; it looked like it was imploding into a crazed ball of feathers and sounded much the same. Not too bright, she guessed, when it came down to it.  
  
Ariana squatted down in front of the injured man, inspecting him and lamenting her inability to make it a clean cut. Maybe she should find his knife and finish the job.  
  
“I’ll skin you alive and make lampshades out of you!” he swore, his voice going ragged with screaming and thick with blood loss. “I’ll tear off your tits and mount them on my wall!”  
  
Or, she could just kill him.  
  
At least she got that on the first try. He instantly grew quieter and still in rapid stages, until finally his body lay motionless and cooling at her feet, bleeding out from the hole the poker made in his chest.  
  
Suddenly, the entire flat grew dead silent. The Murkrow had fallen completely still as if it itself had been murdered, and had its head tilted at a weird, sharp angle, staring at her with unblinking eyes. Disturbed, she ignored it and left to find the bathroom to wash off her face and rinse out her mouth.  
  
Her reflection in the mirror was remarkably calm, for a young girl who had just killed someone. Not just someone—a man who seemed to be an elite member of Team Rocket.  
  
Whatever that implied.  
  
She blinked at the mirror once more before she dried her hands on a soft, white towel and left the bathroom, retying her dress absently. There was an armchair in the main room, and Ariana preferred to sink into it instead of returning to the room where the Murkrow sat like a twisted, staring statue. She should probably get out of here soon, Ariana reasoned. But she just felt so drained. Sitting for a while couldn’t hurt…  
  
She soon woke up to her shoulder being shaken, gently. Forcing her eyes open, Ariana instantly panicked, vision clearing enough to make out a male, white-clad figure in front of her. Oh fuck he was still alive. Oh fuck oh _fuck_!  
  
“It _is_ you,” the man stated, in a voice surprised but otherwise unremarkable. He chuckled. “Imagine that. I thought we agreed never to meet again.”  
  
…Wait. What?  
  
Ariana blinked harder. The man in front of her was vaguely familiar, as if she had noticed him once many years ago in a crowd. “…Who…”  
  
“I gave you a taste for blood, looks like. Or maybe you already had it?” The man cocked an eyebrow over at the bedroom.  
  
“…Oh,” she said, rubbing at an eye with the back of her hand. “You’re that guy.” Fake trainer card guy. Now she remembered.  
  
“I get that a lot.” He grinned. She could see now he had on a long, white coat with a subtle red R stitched near the top, where a breast pocket would be, and a black, rimmed hat that nearly covered his eyes. “He was my superior, you know.”  
  
“You pissed?” she asked, trying to read him. He didn’t look it.  
  
“Nah. Just leaves another opening. Another opening, all down the ranks.”  
  
She missed his meaning, distracted by a movement out of the corner of her eye. The Murkrow had abandoned its owner to come sit with her, it looked like. The Pokémon was still watching her unsettlingly, with its head tilted just so.  
  
The unremarkable man nodded at the bird. “You could take her, if you wanted. You earned it. She seems to have taken a shining to you, anyway.”  
  
While Ariana blinked in confusion, he let a Pokéball roll to a stop on the table next to her armchair as he moved to take a seat in a similar chair across the way. Slowly, she picked it up and returned the Murkrow to its depths, mostly to rid herself of that glassy gaze. But it was like second nature to afterwards attach the ball to her belt, right by the one holding her Gloom.  
  
The man grinned his forgettable grin.  
  
“How’d you like to join Team Rocket, Ariana?”  
  
As if she’d acquired some of the bird’s habits, she watched the man quietly for a while, with eyes narrowed in suspicion and appraisal and thoughtfulness. She had cursed, and fought, and broken things, and hurt people, and gotten in where she wasn’t meant to be, and stolen, and cheated, and lied. She had repaid debts with sex. And she was a murderer, now; one Pokémon, one person. Somehow, she doubted anything Team Rocket asked her to do could be much worse than what she’d already done.  
  
And it sounded like they needed someone who was willing to get her hands dirty.  
  
“Why not,” she shrugged. “Where do I sign?”


End file.
